


The Kissing Lesson

by cruisedirector



Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: Aristocracy, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Community: kings_speeches, Confusion, Endearments, Falling In Love, Frottage, Frustration, Happy Ending, Heteronormativity, Jealousy, Kissing, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Open Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Psychology, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Speech Disorders, Surprise Kissing, Talking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teaching, Temper Tantrums, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Proper use of the mouth is crucial for clear speech. And clear feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like Kissing

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be one fairly gen chapter, but the characters kept talking, so eventually I gave in and wrote more. I'm presuming a fairly loose aristocratic definition of marital fidelity. Kitty Kelley and various other trashy biographers claim the Queen Mum hated sex, and although I don't believe they knew anything about her, I adapted that claim here.

"The tongue is the most agile muscle in the body. Think about all the things you can do with it," says Lionel, winking a bit when Bertie gapes at him. "You can curl it in either direction. You can make it convex or concave or flat."

Sticking out his tongue, Lionel demonstrates, gesturing at Bertie as though he wants Bertie to come closer, though Bertie knows from previous sessions that it means Lionel wants him to do the same thing. He tries to mimic the movements with his own tongue, though he can feel his face turning pink, the way it does whenever Lionel presses on his diaphragm or strokes his jaw to make Bertie aware of the different muscles that involuntarily stiffen and clench it.

"You can press the tip of your tongue against your palate or against your teeth while the back of the tongue remains depressed." Lionel makes D and T sounds to demonstrate. "Or you can raise the back of your tongue while the front stays down, as when you make the K sound. Isn't it remarkable?"

Bertie knows that he is staring, not just at Lionel's tongue, but at the shape of Lionel's lips and the crinkling around Lionel's eyes which suggests that Lionel is smiling even when Lionel is making a face to demonstrate the proper way to form a letter in the mouth. The blush spreads down Bertie's neck. "M-my tongue isn't the p-p-problem," he stammers.

It's clear that Lionel loves speech -- not just language, not just the words from the dramatic speeches from Shakespeare that he likes to quote, but the process of speech, the way air moves through the vocal cords and is transformed by the tongue and lips and nose and jaw. Lionel isn't self-conscious even about his Australian accent, which he doesn't try to disguise completely, though Bertie has heard the clipped Australian vowels mocked by staff at the Palace whose own accents would not have been deemed acceptable by Bertie's tutors.

Unfettered by notions of dignity drilled into him from a young age, Lionel loves to play with sound. He is equally adept at imitating the soft honks and hoots of the fairy penguin and the screams of the Tasmanian devil, both animals that Bertie has never seen, both from the distant part of the Empire where Lionel was born, where Bertie soon must travel in the name of goodwill and his father's will.

"Smile as you say the 'K' and feel how it flattens your tongue," Lionel suggests, and though Bertie knows he must look ridiculous, he finds that he can say _King_ without the sound getting trapped in his mouth.

"I can't make that face when I'm giving a speech!" he objects more vehemently than Lionel deserves, but the anger makes it easier to get the words out.

Lionel understands. He always understands. "You won't have to do it every time, but it's good practice," he insists. "Now try the P. Purse your lips all the way out like this --"

Leaning in, Lionel extends his lips fully, as though he intends to kiss Bertie to make his point. Bertie must force himself to remain still, not to scramble backward as he did a few times in the early days when Lionel's fingers on his neck or against his chin made his heart start to race.

Bertie knows full well that he comes here every day not just because his speech is improving, but because he craves the rush of feeling that comes from the exercises. Everything Lionel does to improve his breathing and loosen his jaw makes his muscles quiver...not just in the face and throat, but in the chest and belly and places that have nothing to do with his speech. Bertie tells himself that the reaction has less to do with Lionel than with the way he was raised, so unused to touching people that he now responds to the slightest provocation.

When Bertie had first married Elizabeth, she had realized it quickly -- that he would misinterpret any small show of affection on her part, the brush of her hand or the press of her arm, to mean that she was eager to make love. In fact, Elizabeth was simply used to touching her sisters and her friends without expecting a reaction. She found such ardor to be vulgar. Bertie had learned to stop showing her that every kiss made him ache, rather than risk that she might stop kissing him.

"Shall we try it?" Lionel's voice is cajoling, enthusiastic, not at all like Elizabeth's gentle but firm postponements and deferrals, particularly since the baby arrived. It is easier to accept what affection she offers, so much more than Bertie ever received from anyone in his family. Undoubtedly she's right that it's weakness on Bertie's part to wish for more.

"Pucker up, please," Bertie says in a mocking tone to cover his embarrassment, extending his lips the way Lionel is doing. The words come out easily, like vowels, which Lionel has explained are much simpler because in forming a vowel sound, the flow of air is not interrupted by the tongue or jaw. Like a moan of pleasure.

"Beaut," says Lionel, smiling warmly at him. "Now try 'people' and 'president' and 'prince.'"

_Prince_ is a word that has always given him trouble, though not nearly as much as _Queen_ or _King_. Bertie thinks of Lionel's fingers touching his windpipe, making him feel how the skin and muscles shift as he pushes the different sounds out. Involuntarily, he smiles, and his jaw unclenches. "Prince," he says, pushing his lower face out. "Purse those pretty lips. Like kissing."

Lionel's eyebrows shoot up, but he returns the smile. "Like kissing," he agrees, shaping his mouth for the sound. "Perfect."


	2. Kissing Lessons

While Bertie's wife may be patient with him most of the time, Elizabeth is no angel. She has never been eager for his kisses, which Bertie believed during their courtship to be a mark of her upbringing; Elizabeth might lack his royal background, but she shows discretion and a sense of modesty that impresses even Bertie's father, who despises girls in short dresses and decries aggressive women.

But since their marriage, though at times she must consent to share a bed in an effort to produce the male heir his family so desires, Elizabeth continues to turn away from Bertie's kisses. He is no longer prone to the occasional drooling that an extended stammer could bring on -- something he knows most women would find intolerable -- yet even now she deftly avoids letting him put his lips over hers, offering instead her cheek or the side of her throat when she must.

So when a speech rehearsal is going badly, inspiring Lionel to put his hands all over Bertie's neck and jaw in a manner that is simultaneously arousing and infuriating, as Lionel gently smiles and urges, "Like kissing, remember?" when Bertie can't unlock his jaw to pronounce "people" and "public" and "perhaps," Bertie can't help blurting out his humiliation.

"I'm no b-better at kissing than I am at speaking! My w-wife hates it when I k-kiss her."

Something like pity tightens Lionel's mouth before the expression deliberately changes to amused camaraderie. When Bertie's temper gets the better of him, Lionel takes refuge in his training as an actor.

"I'm not allowed to breathe near Myrtle when she's made up her face. Nor in places she would consider indiscreet -- including our own bedroom, if the boys are awake."

"Elizabeth would never stand for p-public kisses, not even near servants. I meant --" Lionel's features are very still, neither curious nor discouraging, as Lionel waits to see whether Bertie will think better of continuing. He should stop, yet there's no one else he can tell. The shame of it would be impossible to articulate even without a stammer. "She doesn't want me to k-k-kiss her when we're alone. I think she'd be happiest if I never entered her bedroom again."

Lionel looks as if he's weighing protocol against sympathy. As is usual with Lionel, protocol gets tossed aside. "Perhaps she simply doesn't like kissing," he says with a shrug. "Some women don't. Especially if they're trying to avoid all matters connected with childbirth."

Bertie has long suspected that his own mother locked his father out of her bedroom after their last child, his brother John, was born with such profound flaws. Lionel's wife is likely past the age when it would be considered safe to have a baby; for a moment Bertie lets himself wonder whether Lionel is feeling as deprived of the marriage bed as himself.

In the midst of this speculation, Lionel catches his eye, making Bertie blush. "In any case, I don't believe that you're not good at kissing. You've spent months working on controlling your lips and tongue. Compared to most men, you're probably an expert."

Lionel's wink sends the heat in Bertie's face flooding downward, forcing him to step back and turn away in a hurry. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever had to k-kiss me," he mutters.

Lionel only chuckles. "I only know how men kiss from hearsay, but your jaw is pliable and your teeth are much better than most." Seemingly oblivious to the tension roaring through Bertie -- or, more likely, aware of it but blind to its true cause, thinking the stammer has caused Bertie's mortification -- Lionel steps around, places his hand on Bertie's chin and tugs this way and that, demonstrating the flexibility of Bertie's mouth. "Seeing how careful and thorough you always are, and how responsive to others..."

Of course Lionel has no idea what he's doing to Bertie with his words and his touch. Bertie has been so careful to hide any such reaction, using all the discipline he's been taught since he was a child, and Lionel is only doing and saying the sorts of things he's said and done many times before, with no hint of flirtation behind the warmth that comes so easily to him. Anger is the only emotion that Bertie can deploy safely -- he's seen his father's rages dozens of times, royalty is always forgiven for such moods. "You don't know anything about it!" he snaps, jerking his chin away from Lionel.

"Tell me, then," suggests Lionel with infuriating calm.

"You c-can't fix this!"

"How can you be sure, if you won't even let me know what the problem is?"

There's no plan, there's never a plan when Bertie's having one of his gnashes, but if there were a plan it certainly would not involve grabbing Lionel's shoulder, pressing him up against the wall and pinning him there for as long as it takes Bertie to smash his lips against Lionel's. Lionel is too astonished to resist, so Bertie kisses him quite thoroughly before releasing him, the sort of kiss his wife has never welcomed and rarely endured.

"There," Bertie practically spits in Lionel's face, though his voice is shaking and his hands are shaking, or perhaps that's Lionel trying to wriggle free.

Bertie has never known Lionel to be speechless except at moments when Lionel was so moved he feared he might weep. Lionel's lips are still parted in surprise, his eyes dilated. This close, Bertie can see every indication of Lionel's age, the lines around his eyes and the spots on his skin, the emerging gray in his hair. He can see Lionel's throat work as Lionel swallows. "What on earth was that?" asks Lionel.

"T-told you. T-t-terrible." Now that his own shock at himself is wearing off, Bertie's shaking grows worse, but he can't seem to let go of Lionel's shoulder. He's quite certain that he'll fall over if he tries.

"Whatever that was..." Now Lionel smiles, transforming his face, so that although the wrinkles and blemishes are still there, they are overwhelmed by the bright blue of Lionel's eyes and the spots of color in his cheeks. "...it wasn't terrible," Lionel finishes in a whisper, as if sharing a confidence rather than trying to rescue Bertie's confidence and push past his embarrassment.

"Lionel." It's not what Bertie meant to call him; he meant to use the less intimate family name. Again Lionel smiles, nodding a bit to encourage Bertie to continue.

So Bertie does. Lunging again, he pushes his mouth against Lionel's. This time Lionel tilts his head, accepting the kiss if not quite returning it. For a moment Bertie has the impression of being studied, though when he dares a glance, Lionel's eyes are closed. Perhaps Lionel has some colonial notion that it's an honor to be kissed by a member of the royal family, though Lionel knows better than anyone just how many faults Bertie has.

Suddenly Lionel's lips shift, kissing him back, making Bertie forget both why he's doing this and why he shouldn't. Lionel's fingers slide through his hair, holding Bertie right where he is with his mouth against Lionel's. It isn't a lesson but a welcome.

His prick is harder than ever, but if Bertie could spare a moment for rational thought, that wouldn't be surprising. Kissing puts him in mind of women -- touching them, making love to them -- not only Elizabeth, but the women he'd had before her, with their varying degrees of enthusiasm about servicing a prince. Lionel has never been awed by Bertie's titles, he's not a sycophant like other speech therapists Bertie has met, surely he would balk at this if it repulsed him. If it feels odd to be kissing Lionel's rougher face and wider lips, that is for the best, because it is for a woman that Bertie wants to be better at kissing.

Surely Lionel understands that, even if, as Bertie notices when his thigh slips between Lionel's legs, Lionel's prick is stirring, too. The friction makes that inevitable. He feels a tremor go through Lionel, emerging as a moan, and feels satisfaction in the knowledge that Lionel really does think he's a good kisser. Not that Lionel would know what a well-bred woman would expect -- Lionel's kissing experiences likely have been with shop girls and actresses before his marriage -- but Lionel doesn't shy away from passion, he knows how people like to be touched, he's comfortable enough to be squeezing Bertie against him even if they're both panting between kisses, rubbing shamelessly --

The explosion roars through Bertie's prick before knows it's about to happen, as if he's still a schoolboy. Even if he could still his hips, he can't hold in the cry that bursts from his throat as he shoves himself against Lionel's thigh. For a single instant, the world is reduced to pleasure that floods every part of him, leaving him clinging to Lionel in its wake.

Then the shame returns tenfold. He doesn't dare look at Lionel. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers, breath catching in his throat.

"Shh," says Lionel, kissing Bertie's cheek like a nanny reassuring a frightened child, reaching into a pocket and fishing out a handkerchief which he presses into Bertie's hand. Then Lionel goes back to stroking Bertie's hair as Bertie shoves the handkerchief past his waistband, fumbling to blot up the mess before it can leak through his trousers and reveal his perversion to the world.

"You m-must forgive me, I d-didn't mean t-t-t--"

"I know." Bertie chances a look at Lionel's face. Lionel's eyes are half-closed, his expression dreamy, hand moving in a comforting rhythm against Bertie's scalp. Lionel doesn't look perturbed by what has happened; he looks pleased, even satisfied, the very things Bertie dares not allow himself to feel.

"You're n-not offended?"

Lionel gazes at Bertie, his expression suddenly vulnerable, something Bertie has never seen no matter what fits of temper he's hurled at Lionel. His own guilt fades.

"I wanted to --" he begins, no stammer on the W for a change, and when Lionel grins, his relief is so great that he sags in his arms. Lionel has to hold him up, pressing underneath him so that Bertie can feel the still-unrelieved erection against his own thigh. "You see, I'm terrible, I didn't even ask what you wanted," then abruptly there is a knock on the door. Lionel's next patient. Bertie's time is up.

They both react too quickly for thought, separating, straightening clothing, with Bertie lunging to sit on the couch because he trusts neither his knees nor the state of his trousers. The handkerchief, now a filthy wad, goes into a pocket. Lionel tugs on his suit coat, looking no more disheveled than when he's been doing exercises with a patient.

"Lionel..." Bertie realizes that whatever needs to be said will have to wait for next time. If there is a next time. If Lionel doesn't come to his senses and cancel all their future meetings.

That terror must show on Bertie's face, because Lionel smiles reassuringly at him. "It's going to be fine."

"You aren't --"

"I'm fine." Lionel buttons the coat, hiding all remaining evidence that anything out of the ordinary has happened. Perhaps that is what he means by _fine_. Only his smile has not changed.

Bertie will keep that in his mind the whole of the next week, when previously scheduled engagements keep him from seeing Lionel and he doesn't dare find an excuse to telephone, though he thinks at times that he won't be able to breathe if he doesn't speak to Lionel straightaway. He feels ridiculous. Bertie has always liked women, not boyish girls, with unfashionable big bosoms and full skirts, so different from the skinny athletic sort that David prefers. Georgie's affairs with men remain a distasteful mystery.

Why then does Bertie find himself thinking of Lionel even when Elizabeth squeezes his hand and, sensing his distraction, pats his cheek? Hadn't he only wanted to learn how to kiss so that his own wife would welcome him?

For the first time he is grateful for an upcoming speech, since it means that he must practice. As always, Lionel greets him with a smile, and gives him a pat on the shoulder when they begin work. It's all work. The words flow more smoothly than the week before, even when Bertie deliberately tries to stumble over "people" to be reminded to purse his lips, like kissing. He thinks that he has never seen Lionel look so focused.

When he finishes reading, Lionel tells him, "That was very good." Bertie lets his shoulders sag, though he knows that Lionel will remind him to stand up straight. "Don't look so crestfallen."

"I'm not." The words come out sulky, like a petulant child's. Lionel isn't even standing close enough to touch. "Not about the speech."

"Bad week?"

Ridiculous. Once more Bertie reminds himself that he isn't attracted to men, and even if he were, he wouldn't be attracted to Lionel, who can't hide his age or the signs of his working-class origins. Yet even now Bertie can't stop thinking about doing the lewdest things with Lionel, rubbing off on him, sucking his prick, pushing Lionel down on that awful couch in the consultation room...no, that's not right, in Bertie's fantasies Lionel is always just as eager. Bertie wants to confide in Lionel and at the same time he dreads even more than rejection the thought that Lionel might say yes and go through the motions with none of the joy that brightened his face during that brief glorious tussle.

"You can tell me, you know." The words snap Bertie back to the present, and he blushes. Lionel winks at him. "If you want to."

The wink works like a wall collapsing, sending Bertie into motion, so that in three steps he's holding onto Lionel's arms and resting his forehead against Lionel's. "I'm sorry. All week I haven't been able to think of anything but this."

Without lifting his head, Lionel glances around at the walls, the windows. "I've done my share of thinking, too. But Bertie, this isn't safe."

"I know. I know. If the archbishop knew..."

Lionel stares at him in dismay. "You aren't going to tell the archbishop?"

"Of course not!" Bertie's horror must be apparent in his voice because Lionel relaxes, even smiling a bit at the thought of Lang's face if Bertie told. Then Bertie knows how selfish he has been, fearing only for his own reputation. Lionel, too, has a wife, a happy marriage, and what she would think -- what anyone would think -- are words he doesn't dare allow to form even in his mind. "I'm sorry," Bertie says again, seeing at once that what he's been imagining is impossible. He is behaving as selfishly as David, putting all the wrong needs first. "I s-s-shouldn't..."

Lionel's fingers touch his jaw, innocently, as Lionel always has done at the point where the stammer starts. Bertie is unprepared for the surge of desire that goes through him at that simple touch. He can't keep from groaning.

"All week?" asks Lionel, eyes bright with mirth.

"Every spare moment. I know it's madness." Lionel's smile is irresistible; Bertie wishes he could kiss it, but settles for returning it. "I don't know what to do. Please, tell me what to do."

"Have you tried kissing your wife?"

"I haven't wanted to." The deep breath from the diaphragm, intended to steady himself, instead makes Bertie lightheaded. "I've wanted to kiss _you_." He expects to be reminded that that's not a good idea, but Lionel doesn't say anything at all, and after a moment Bertie decides the silence must mean that Lionel wants it as well but won't put them both at risk by saying so. He knows that if he kisses Lionel, he won't want to stop at one kiss, and if he doesn't stop at one, he knows just as clearly where it will lead.

As if he can read Bertie's mind, Lionel says, "This is why it's not safe."

"I can protect you. My position --"

Lionel smiles so wistfully that it makes Bertie's throat tighten. "-- would only make things more dangerous for you, when it's supposed to be my job to make things easier."

It might be meant as a gentle rejection, but Lionel hasn't said no, and Bertie can't wait another moment. He pulls Lionel against him for a kiss that's every bit as delicious as the ones he's been remembering, sweet with passion and tart with desire.

"Please," he whispers when they come up for air. Lionel nods, and they move together again as Bertie realizes that he's not stammering at all, even on the Ps.


	3. Kissing Practice

"You kiss differently."

Bertie blinks at his wife. Almost as soon as he covered her mouth with his, he expected to be chastised, but this isn't a reaction for which he's prepared.

"It's those lessons with Logue, isn't it." For a moment he fears his heart will burst, but Elizabeth smiles as she goes on, "He did say you would have more control of your mouth and jaw. Does it feel different to you?"

"Y-yes." Bertie tries to will himself not to grow tense; he rarely does with her, and _that_ would make her suspicious even if the kiss did not. Of course, she's more likely to imagine it's another woman, but it won't make matters any easier if she believes he's strayed. "I told Logue that Ps are always difficult, and he told me to p-practice them like..." He purses his lips. "Like kissing."

He is blushing, but now, at least, he has an excuse. He knows he has taken too many risks. Even keeping Lionel's handkerchief hidden in his desk could mean disaster if it's discovered.

Elizabeth can see his discomfort, but her own prejudices rescue Bertie. "As long as he continues to help your speech, I don't see why you should be embarrassed if his methods are unorthodox," she says, patting his hand. "We'll just make certain the public doesn't learn of it."

The thought of the public learning what Bertie does when he's alone with Lionel is enough to make him start to sweat. "You know he's very d-discreet."

"And wants to keep you coming back." There's a sharpness to Elizabeth's voice, but again it arises from her own expectations. "He wouldn't jeopardize the prestige of his position. Or the money."

"I suppose you're right."

"And I suppose he likes you." Her voice has softened. "Don't tell him that I said you kiss differently. He's far too inquisitive about personal matters."

Her expression is expectant, and Bertie feels -- for the first time since the baby's birth -- that his attentions might be welcomed instead of merely endured. But he only nods and smiles, turning toward the door. "I shan't."

Lionel already knows that Bertie kisses differently. With every kiss, with every touch, Bertie has discovered something new about himself -- that he likes to be teased and provoked when he's certain his patience will be rewarded, that a kiss can ask a question as well as provide an answer, that whispered suggestions don't make him stammer. That he wants to share a warm bed in sleep as much as he wants to rumple the covers first.

In spite of everything, Bertie hadn't expected such explorations with a man -- with Lionel -- to feel so much like making love that he can't think of a better phrase for what they do together.

"My wife says I kiss differently," he tells Lionel the next time he sees him, betraying Elizabeth's confidence without a thought because he would consider it a graver betrayal not to tell Lionel about even that small treason.

"Well, you do." Lionel chuckles, brushing his lips over Bertie's shoulder. "It must be a good sign if she appreciates your kisses. Is she suspicious?"

"Only about your controversial Antipodean speech therapy." He can't help laughing with Lionel when they're like this, half-dressed in case of an untimely summons, still flushed and happy from the pleasure they've just shared. "I don't think she'd consider this within the realm of the possible."

"I'm not sure that I do, either." Grinning, Lionel flops back, folding his hands behind his head in lieu of a pillow. "I often think that this is a dream. If I told _my_ wife, that's what she'd tell me."

"She isn't suspicious, then?" The pang of jealousy is unjust and unfair, Bertie knows. He should wish Lionel only happiness in his marriage, just as Lionel wishes for him.

Lionel's head turns, studying him, and Bertie feels his face heat at the realization that Lionel can hear the churlishness in his voice. "My wife would never begrudge any time I spent with you." A hand reaches out for Bertie's. "It wouldn't occur to her to be suspicious because she believes I owe you whatever allegiance you command."

Still blushing, Bertie burrows against Lionel's side, wrapping a sweaty arm around Lionel's sticky middle. "You don't owe me anything," he insists. "You know that. Not like this."

Fingernails brush gently up Bertie's arm, making him shiver. He feels Lionel's chest rise and fall, breathing from the diaphragm just the way Lionel taught Bertie. "And you know that I'm not here out of obligation." The fingers sweep through Bertie's hair, which Lionel knows by now will make Bertie purr like a contented cat. "I love being like this with you."

Every time Lionel begins a sentence with the words _I love..._ , Bertie wills it to end differently than it ever has. This time he sighs softly, tightening his arm around Lionel's waist. "I l-love having you like this."

The momentary hesitation does not escape Lionel's notice. "Not tired of me?" he asks lightly.

"Never." This, too, makes Lionel chuckle. More than once he has mocked his limitations, his background, his age and appearance, until the last time when Bertie became so agitated that Lionel stopped doing it. Bertie supposes that what they now refer to as kissing practice must eventually end, but at the moment he can't bear to think about it. "I won't let you go until you w-want to."

"I couldn't ever be tired of you, either." A familiar wistfulness lowers Lionel's voice. "You'll have to keep summoning me for speech lessons, but your speech is so much improved that your staff may wonder why."

"I still have trouble with certain sounds. Can't you guess which?" Perhaps, if Bertie said the words first, he could inspire Lionel to say what he wishes Lionel would say, but something more frightening than the stammer won't allow him to utter them.

"You're much better with your Ps and Qs." Lionel's fingers brush across his jaw. "You get tripped up sometimes by your 'king's."

"A prince, a queen, a king," recites Bertie, exaggerating the movements of his lips and tongue, kissing Lionel's finger as it strokes over his mouth. "A princess, a wife, a l-lover."

Lionel's head lifts. It's his job to notice when Bertie stammers, particularly on the same words. "Try that one again," he says.

"A l-lo-lov --" Bertie stops to swallow. He puts his fingers on Lionel's jaw. "Show me."

"Lover." Catching Bertie's wrist, Lionel pulls Bertie's fingers over his mouth, kissing them as his lips move. "Love," he looks at Bertie, "you, now."

Bertie takes a breath from the diaphragm. "Lover." He turns his hand in Lionel's, bringing Lionel's fingers against his chin, kissing the knuckles. "Love. You, too."

"Yes, love," Lionel says, nodding. They both smile, cheeks flushed, though Bertie shivers so hard that his teeth chatter and Lionel's arm comes back around him. "You see, it's easier with practice."

"It's only easier with you. Everything is easier with you." There is more that he wants to tell Lionel, but Bertie is more acutely aware than most of the dangers of trying to say too much, so he leaves it at that. If his wife has noticed that he kisses differently, she will surely notice if he becomes loose with his tongue in other ways -- if he begins to use endearments he has never spoken before, if he spends too much time smiling at the face in the mirror to which Lionel has just murmured words of passion.

Lionel squeezes him close, rubbing the tension from Bertie's jaw with the pressure of his own, and Bertie sinks gratefully into his embrace, whispering "Love" once more.


	4. More Than Kissing

"Do you and your wife still..."

Bertie finds himself blurting out the question before he's thought it through, so there's no stammer. But as his mind catches up to his mouth, he stops himself in horror. It's none of his business, and if Lionel had asked such a question, Bertie would have protected himself by getting angry.

Lionel, however, does not have a temper like Bertie's. "Do my wife and I still...?" he repeats, waiting for the rest of the question. After a few moments, he gestures at the bed between them. "Do this?"

Mortified, Bertie feels his face catch fire. "I'm sorry. I've no idea what put that in my head. P-please ignore it."

But Lionel, of course, does not let him escape so easily. "There must have been some reason you asked," he says with a smile, his tone neither indignant nor demanding.

It's because Lionel would never pry in such a manner that Bertie feels compelled to explain himself, though it feels like a betrayal of Elizabeth in a way that making love with Lionel never does. "My wife despises sex," he mutters. "For a long time I thought it m-must be because I was dreadful at it."

"You're not dreadful at it," Lionel interrupts, putting a hand on Bertie's arm.

There are observations that Bertie could make about the differences between making love to his wife and making love to Lionel, anatomically and emotionally, but there are dangers in that line of conversation, so he evades them. "Whether I am or not, I don't think it matters. She's never wanted it -- not even when we were trying to have a child, when she couldn't possibly have thought I'd expect her to act like a lady and refuse."

Lionel is silent, though his eyes widen a bit, as if it hadn't occurred to him that any woman might pretend to dislike sex to maintain her aristocratic authority. It puzzles Bertie, because Elizabeth's mother had so many children that Bertie can't help but think she must have enjoyed the act that produced them, but Elizabeth's mother never moved in royal circles where Elizabeth herself is determined to make an irreproachable impression.

"I haven't even tried with her in a long time." Bertie blushes again as he remembers the train of thought that led him to commit the indiscretion of asking about Lionel's marital relations. "I don't even want to, not really."

The hand squeezes, then strokes Bertie's arm reassuringly. "My wife used to be very willing, but she did not want to have a fourth baby," says Lionel. "We had to make some accommodations for that." It's an odd euphemism which immediately sends Bertie's mind spinning -- does Lionel mean that he and Myrtle stopped sleeping with each other, or that they found ways to satisfy each other that would never result in a pregnancy? Bertie knows very well that Lionel has no squeamishness about how hands and mouths can be used to share pleasure. "These days, she's not often interested...but once in a while."

It's apparent that Lionel is trying to spare Bertie's feelings, so Bertie shakes his head and reaches to give Lionel a squeeze in return. "I wasn't asking because I m-mind it." He does mind it, but he knows he has no right to complain. Briefly, he wonders whether Lionel's wife knows that it isn't only speech therapy they practice in these rooms, though he doesn't dare ask lest Lionel should feel compelled to lie to him. "I had a -- a strange experience, when I was visiting Birmingham last week, and it made me wonder."

Lionel can't help but be aware of Bertie's flushed face. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks nonchalantly, though Lionel isn't a good enough actor -- or perhaps it's just that Bertie knows Lionel too well -- to disguise the curiosity in his voice.

"I don't wish to upset you."

Lionel's brows furrow, then abruptly his eyes grow wide and he grins too brightly. "Is it a woman?" he asks in the tone of a shared confidence.

The lack of disappointment in Lionel's tone makes Bertie's throat tighten a bit. "N-not really, no." For an instant he thinks he sees relief cross Lionel's face, the smile becoming warmer, more genuine, and that gives him the courage to continue. "It was the night before that t-terrible speech we'd been rehearsing, and I complained a great deal to my equerry. I said that it was even worse having to be there without my w-wife, though I didn't mean for the reasons he assumed. He asked me whether I would like some refreshment before I turned in. I assumed he meant a drink, and I said, absolutely. He left me alone, and fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was an actress I'd known when I was younger -- before I knew Elizabeth, and a f-few times afterward."

The catch in Lionel's breath makes Bertie pause. They have never discussed their youthful sexual exploits beyond ascertaining that neither had any experience with men beyond what went on in every boys' school, furtive shared tugs around pin-up photos and the like, but he's reasonably certain that Lionel had other women before his marriage, and quite positive that Lionel has heard the rumors about Bertie's previous affairs from Lionel's friends in the newspaper business.

"She'd brought me the nightcap, but it was apparent why she was really there. We talked for a while, and she stroked my arm as you're doing now. I thought, oh, why not, it isn't as though Elizabeth will ever know or care, and I couldn't b-begin to guess what you'd think, but I did hope you would encourage me to relax."

"I would have," Lionel agrees, nodding, though there's something guarded in his expression which Bertie has never seen before.

"Well, it doesn't matter, because I couldn't. I wasn't the least bit --" Again Bertie blushes. "I kissed her, once, and when it became obvious that not even that could rouse my interest, I told her the kiss was just for old time's sake and that I needed to rest for the speech the next morning. She was far too polite to say anything besides goodnight and good luck."

"Were you embarrassed?" asks Lionel.

"Not that I didn't take her to bed. Or a bit, because the situation was awkward, but I assumed she'd think I had a new m-mistress and my mind was elsewhere." Bertie laughs softly. "Which it was, but not on a woman." He pauses, unable to look Lionel in the eyes as he speaks. "I think I've f-fallen in love with you."

The hand on his arm slides around his back, embracing him, and Lionel's lips press against his forehead. "I love you, too," Lionel murmurs. They've said this to each other once or twice before, but it isn't the same thing. A man, particularly a prince, might express love to a friend or a comrade as a form of courtly compliment, just as a man, particularly a prince, might accept sexual favors from any woman or man willing to offer them. Even if Bertie's staff knew the precise nature of his relationship with Lionel, which Bertie prefers to believe they have not guessed, no one would question or threaten his position because of it.

But to fall in love, to want a man above all others, even his own wife...that would horrify every member of his staff and his family. Even his brother George, whom Bertie knows quite often indulged himself with men and boys, now has children and a wife upon whom he appears to dote. There's a word for this, but it's a word that Bertie's afraid to think, let alone to say. "I d-don't think you understand," he whispers to Lionel, who strokes his hair.

"Oh, I do understand. This has all been confusing for me too, you know. At my age, I'd assumed I'd be losing interest in carnal matters, not having fantasies about a prince." The thought that Lionel had fantasies makes Bertie feel hopeful enough to look up. "There's the fact that you _are_ a man. A prince, not an ordinary man. And my pupil. And married, as am I. Even if I wanted to seek out advice -- from books, since I'd never dare speak of it to anyone -- the situation is surely unprecedented."

At Lionel's rueful chuckle, Bertie smiles. "Everything about our being together is unprecedented. No other prince to my knowledge has ever needed a speech therapist. Nor become such close friends with a --"

"A commoner?" guesses Lionel.

"-- a son of an Australian brewer." They share a grin, though Bertie's wavers when he remembers what brought them to this line of conversation. "My wife has never shown the least concern about whether I might have a mistress. For all I know, she's the one who told my equerry that my old flame was performing on the stage in Birmingham. She hasn't discouraged me from staying in contact with any woman from my past except the ones she feared might be indiscreet about our friendship. But I don't want a mistress -- I just want you."

"Sweetheart, you have me." The endearment takes Bertie's breath away, though at once he realizes that Lionel's reluctance to say such things has likely been from fear of impropriety and not, as Bertie assumed, from lack of feeling. "If we agree that whatever this is between us is unprecedented, can we also agree that it doesn't require conventional descriptions or judgments?"

The pressure that has been choking Bertie's chest floats away as he nods. "Yes. Of course we can."

He is practically shaking with relief as he kisses Lionel, but he knows that Lionel will forgive him for this, since Lionel forgives him for everything. He relaxes into Lionel's arms as Lionel rubs his hair, his shoulders, all the places that have knotted with tension, until it slowly melts away.

"I can still call it love, can't I?" he asks, when, eventually, they come up for air.

"I hope you will," Lionel tells him with a smile, brushing his mouth over Bertie's answering grin. "I've never thought to call it anything else. I don't want it to upset you -- I can't think of your love as anything but a blessing."

"The word doesn't even make me stammer any more. I p-promise..." Pausing, Bertie purses his lips to make his jaw unclench. Like kissing, he thinks, and happiness overwhelms the tightness in his muscles. "I promise I shall always say it to you."


End file.
